Never Looking Back
by chang-raeleeismyhero
Summary: Three years ago something happened, and Vaughn is still living with the consequences...
1. Aftermath

Author's Note: I know this story was up before, but that version was so sloppy. I was so excited to have written a fic after so long, I put it up right away. Also, my computer seems to have trouble uploading documents so there still might be a few things that make you wonder what I was thinking. They aren't my fault I assure you. Anyway. The second chapter is up too. Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Light filters in the window and lands on Michael Vaughn. The gentle rays wake him. They seem to warm him, however briefly, from the deathly cold he usually feels. Eventually his senses begin to register a hand on his chest.  
  
Alice. Two syllables he hates. They leave an acrid taste in his mouth.  
  
The gentle pressure of her hand feels like a fire, raging and burning his skin. He doesn't want her touch. Wants nothing to do with it. But he can't stop himself. It is his punishment. He feels he deserves it. He has grown to need it.  
  
He had married Alice almost three years ago.  
  
That day, everything had told him to run from the church. Bolt and leave Alice far behind.  
  
Everything except that voice that haunts him. The voice that insists he destroy any happiness in his life, because of her. Sydney. She was gone. And it was his fault.  
  
Sure, no one ever pointed a finger, but he knew. He knew she blamed him, and that broke him.  
  
Next to him, Alice stirs. She tightens her hold on him, like a sign of possession, making him feel suffocated instead of loved, like being sick instead of returning the embrace.  
  
Her eyes slowly open, smiling to greet the husband she adores. He has the urge to run to the bathroom, to rid himself of the self-loathing he feels. He knows she is completely oblivious to his feelings and thoughts. He was now well accustomed to hiding them.  
  
"Hi Sweetie," she whispers.  
  
A grunt is his only response. He doesn't trust himself with anything else. Afraid of what might come out in its place.  
  
So he stays with the routine, the safe path. The same one he follows every morning.  
  
He hates it. He hates every routine they have started together over the last three years. Routines that don't include the one person he wanted to start them with. They were started to forget her, to forget that one person. It would never happen, so why torture himself with the hope.  
  
He still can't speak when he and Alice are being intimate, for fear another name will slip out. After all these years, he still dreams of her. Still dreams of saying those two syllables that would rip Alice's precious world to pieces and set him free of his self-inflicted torture.  
  
He had done so, once, seven years ago. But that was before; this was now, after what happened. What he still cannot bring himself to think about, even when he runs his hand over the scar.  
  
The only things he ever lets himself remember are her eyes, the eyes that weren't hers. They increased his sentence, made him find new ways to subject himself to pain.  
  
He sighs, heavy and deep, filled with great sadness and regret.  
  
Alice brings her unwanted hand to his cheek. She wants to know what's wrong. "Nothing," he replies. But he knows he has to get out of that bed, before he goes crazy.  
  
"I have to go to work." A lie. Like he cares.  
  
He goes through the charade of a shower, suit, breakfast, and the goodbye kiss. He even remembers his briefcase. He is somewhat proud for this small accomplishment. He knows it will convince Alice he is truly going to work. It will keep her in the dark a day longer, more time to stay.  
  
He gets in his car and drives. No thinking involved, just driving.  
  
An hour and a half later, he finds himself where he doesn't want to be, yet can't keep himself away from.  
  
He is at the warehouse. Their warehouse, unused now for three years. to the day, he realizes with a jolt.  
  
He understands now how he came to be here, of all places. It was the source of the fall, the beginning of his trip to hell. He knew he would go inside, to remember the details of that day, on the anniversary.  
  
He parks his Government Issue sedan and climbs out. With an air of dread, of a man facing his greatest fear, he begins walking toward his traditional entrance.  
  
Inside, The musty smell has intensified from more years of non-use. But there it was, the stain on the floor, unmoved since they had been there last.  
  
Their blood.  
  
A/N: Please don't hesitate to review! Ok people, I don't own Alias or any of it's characters and situations. If you truly think I do, well, there's not a shred of hope for you out there in that big, bad world. 


	2. The Past and Future

Kneeling down, he slowly drags his fingers across the stain.  
  
The scar in his chest that runs through begins to ache as he lets himself pass into the memories of that horrible day. The day he has tried with everything in him to forget. The day he just can't seem to block out.  
  
Images long repressed rise to the surface. Sydney, walking towards him. Sydney, leveling the gun to his chest. Then so many more horrifying images flash through his tortured mind. Frightening in their clarity, even after all this time.  
  
The moment she had walked in, he knew something was wrong. Any stranger could have told him that.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Vaughn's head snapped up as he heard footsteps in the warehouse. He instantly recognized the gait as Sydney's, and the worry slipped into joy. It had been a week since they had last seen each other, and he couldn't wait. He knew Sydney would also be excited to see him. Not that he was egotistical, mind you. Their relationship had taken a turn for the intimate a year and a half previous. His thoughts were well founded.  
  
But instead of the brisk, happy gait he had grown accustomed to, her gait was heavy, determined, even angry. Something had gone wrong on the mission. This would not be a happy meeting. He reset his mind to accommodate the mood he knew Sydney would be in. Their business could wait.  
  
All thoughts flew from his mind as she came into view. Her long brown hair, usually so soft and smooth, was greasy and unkempt. Her eyes were red, and held a wild quality he had never seen her sport before. Bruises covered her face, and he could see them disappear below her neckline. Her look was enough to scare any man, even those who didn't know what she could truly do to them.  
  
He began to move forward. "Syd-"  
  
"Don't." The word came out dangerous and low. Murderous. For the first time since he had known Sydney Bristow, he was truly afraid of her.  
  
"You." The same tone as before, yet this time she began to inch forward, one stride, then another, then another. When she stopped, she was only two feet in front of him.  
  
"Syd, honey, tell me what's wrong, what happened," he said in the most tender voice he could muster, trying not to let the panic seep through.  
  
Her eyes, locked on his, softened for a split second, before they grew hard, and she laughed. Not a human laugh. Not Sydney's laugh, the laugh of a person who had lost their mind.  
  
He wanted to flinch, but thought better of it. Any movement on his part could be a bad thing. Even reaching out to comfort the woman he loved could be disastrous.  
  
She began, in an awful monotone, to tell a story. Every word seared into his brain, to be heard in so many nightmares.  
  
She had been found out. Sloane had pictures, of them. Of all their meeting places, and all the things they had done. Even the warehouse had been compromised. He had shots of them hugging, kissing, talking, and more. Sloane knew who Vaughn was, his occupation, and every detail of his life, down to his pant size and favorite drink.  
  
But it was not Vaughn who would suffer the most.  
  
Sloane had killed everyone. Her father, Francie, Will, and even Dixon and his family. He had been convinced Dixon had been involved, somehow, though he had no proof. Then he had tortured Sydney. Tortured her for four long days, involuntarily killing the child she had unknowingly been carrying.  
  
She put her hand in her bag, searching for something. She slowly drew out a gun, cocked it, and raised it. It was aimed at his chest, in the vicinity of his left lung. The thought ran abstractly through his mind.  
  
Then, her words registered. Baby. She had been pregnant. They were going to be parents. No, he corrected himself. Not any more. It was all too much to process. Then, she spoke again.  
  
"He's coming after you next. But I won't let him, I'm ending this myself."  
  
And with that, she pulled the trigger.  
  
The force of the bullet slicing through his chest knocked Vaughn backwards. Stumbling, he fell against the table, then to the floor. He couldn't feel anything except shock, he seemed to be paralyzed. Lifting his eyes to meet Sydney's again, he saw her turn the gun on herself.  
  
A weak "No," was all he managed to do to stop what he knew was coming. The blast reverberated through the wound in his chest. The pain finally caught up with him, emotional and physical.  
  
He cried out in pain as Sydney's body slumped next to him on the floor. He looked to see their blood pooling together, growing steadily. He thought numbly that it would make a stain.  
  
As black crept around the edges of his vision, he heard the woman next to him muttering something. With all the strength he had left, he strained to hear it.  
  
"I'm sorry Michael. So, so sorry. I did it for you. I love you. You know that. I love you."  
  
Blackness overtook him.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
After the scene in the warehouse, the next thing he remembers is waking up in the hospital: Alice by his bedside and Eric behind her. They both had looked terrified.  
  
In the weeks that followed, he learned that Sydney had managed to kill herself. SD-6 accepted it and stopped the manhunt for her. Not that it mattered, it met it's own end shortly after.  
  
On the floor of the warehouse Vaughn runs his fingers over the stain again, then over his face as he realizes he is crying, has been for quite sometime. The room is blurry and all he can do is curl up and sob until there is nothing left to cry.  
  
After several hours, he stirs. He realizes he had cried himself to sleep.  
  
'Well,' he thinks, 'you ended it Syd.'  
  
But there are no tears left to mourn this sad fact.  
  
He stands and composes himself. He glances at his watch and realizes he should be getting back to Alice. She'll be waiting at home for him. Sydney won't, but Alice will.  
  
So he sets out toward the door, hearing echoes of all the times they had spent in the warehouse, good and bad, filled with joy, misery, and everything in between. He hears her words following him out the door.  
  
"I did it for you. I love you. You know that. I love you."  
  
He exits the warehouse, never looking back.  
  
A/N: Sorry that took a couple days to get out, but it was so depressing, I couldn't type it. That's it for now. And just to reiterate, Alias is not mine. Let me know what you thought. Believe it or not, there is a reason they invented the little button at the bottom! ;) 


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